i tried not to feel it
by glueskin
Summary: but i can't get you out of my head. or, sena comes to a realization that perhaps isn't as startling as it should be. explicit content.


yes thats a carly rae jepsen lyric in the title

anyway...guess who binge read es21 over the course of several days and then wrote this immediately afterwards? haha if you guessed "was it YOU, henry?" then you got it in one

this takes place after the scene in ch 108...you know the one. i also wrote this all at once in less than two hours so if there are any mistakes feel free to point them out

shout out to kat for ruining my life by enabling me to read this damn manga

(also posted on ao3)

* * *

Sena had figured, the first time he'd found himself catching a glimpse of Shin in the midst of whatever fleeting sexual fantasy he had been indulging in at the time—he couldn't even remember, afterwards, so startled by the fact he'd come all over the wall of the shower as soon as he'd imagined Shin—that it was a one time thing.

But then it happens twice, three times—and then comes their conversation outside of the BBQ joint and their promise to meet in the finals. As soon as the words leave Sena's mouth, he feels arrogant; but then Shin smiles, or something close to it, mouth curving just enough to be noticeable, eyes bright yet soft.

He looks oddly beautiful, illuminated by the restaurants flickering neon sign. The artificial lighting seems to spill over him, the shadow he cast mingling with Sena's own on the sidewalk between them, and when he sees himself reflected in Shin's eyes, takes note of the strength of his jaw and the way his hair clung to his forehead with sweat, he thinks, _oh_.

Heat pools into every bit of him, then, toes curling in his shoes as he felt his skin itch. Even once he escapes back into the restaurant, the feeling refuses to subside. Every time he sees Shin's silhouette outside the window it comes back twofold and he spends the rest of the outing terrified someone will notice that he's half-hard and relieved for the loose fabric of his sweats.

By the time Sena stumbles home, he feels as if something inside him had been set aflame and almost cries with relief at the fact his dad's car isn't in the driveway and his mom is attending her weekly book club, which always goes on for _hours_.

Kicking out of his shoes, he almost trips twice on his way upstairs to his room—once on the stairs and again over the cat—before shutting his door with more aggression than strictly necessary, locking it despite the fact neither of his parents are home.

Alone, heart pounding in his chest, Sena lets himself think about it. Shin.

 _Okay_ , he thinks. Okay. Shin. His skin is crawling with heat, still, and it's been two and a half hours since their conversation but it feels like barely five minutes. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the door, and figures this explains a lot.

Like. A lot. So, girls; he never. Liked any girls, has he? He tries to think about it. Mamori doesn't count, she's like his sister or second mom; he'd liked her once, in fourth grade, in that idealistic way kids like to claim about older family members. But he can't remember liking any other girls, and had just figured he hadn't met anyone he liked well enough.

Even when masturbating, he's never really thought of girls. Just—vague impressions of people, sort of? Like. Figures. Shapes. And he's never looked at girls, really, not even Suzuna or anyone else. But he remembers, in middle school, some of his upperclassmen who he'd thought of as…and, well, some of his classmates who had never bullied him but hadn't _helped_ , had made his chest all cottony and warm.

That's a crush, right? Or at least attraction? He thinks it is. He remembers thinking of Hiruma-senpai, even, as being handsome in an off-hand, rakish sort of way, if you don't mind someone who's all angles and sharp edges. And who probably wouldn't hesitate to kill someone in their sleep.

But. Shin. _Shin_ , god, it's so fucking obvious he could punch himself; how often has he been thinking about Shin, these days? Constantly. Shin is always at the back of his mind, even when he's not actively thinking about him. He's there. A weight Sena can't shake, a weight he doesn't _want_ to shake; he remembers the exhilaration he'd felt matching Shin's pace that day, months ago, when Monta had been mugged. The way his lungs had burned with exertion and his face had ached from how hard he fought not to grin as Shin looked at him with something fierce in his eyes.

God. _God_.

Rattling his own doorknob as if to reassure himself that it's locked, Sena pivots around and stumbles towards his bed. He falls face first against his covers quite deliberately, gripping the blankets to haul himself completely onto the bed.

"I like Shin," he says to himself, muffled by the blankets. Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any more real, but it does kind of make him want to scream in frustration.

He still feels hot, too. That's not normal, is it? To keep thinking about a specific little encounter like that for _hours_? To still feel aroused over it?

It's worse now that he's alone. He can feel the heat rushing not all over him, but straight to his dick. He closes his eyes and lets himself scream a little into the bedding as he remembers what it had felt like to have Shin's body on top of him the last time they had played a match together. Hot, heavy, his eyes dark. The fear and adrenaline Sena had felt.

The want.

"Oh my _god_ ," he wails, rolling onto his side. He's hard, he can feel it, and the urge to just cry or perhaps vanish off the face of the Earth forever is a strong one.

 _It's fine_ , he tells himself, desperate to believe the lie. _You're fine. Shin never has to know. Nobody ever has to know_. Well, maybe Hiruma knows. Sena wouldn't be surprised if Hiruma knew something like this, even if Sena himself hadn't known it until tonight, but. Nobody else.

Shin is just. Too. Much. For Sena, that is. He's talented, popular, _good looking_ …god, he probably has almost as many fans as Sakuraba, at least at Oujou. Girls love attractive athletes, don't they? Shin probably doesn't like guys; he'd likely be grossed out, and anyway, even if he did, there are way better looking guys. Sena is small and thin and plain in every way, so even if Shin likes him well enough as a friend and considers him good enough to be his rival, _liking_ him is. Impossible.

Sena wants to die and his dick is _still fucking hard_. He hates being a teenager and he hates the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest at the thought of Shin having girls clamouring for his affection over at Oujou.

"Fine!" He yells at no one in particular, fed up with his thought process and his persistent erection. "Fine, god, _okay_ ," he rolls over again, to face the wall instead of his door, and forces himself to stop thinking about how hopelessly one sided his stupid crush is and instead about the way Shin had smiled early that night.

That's good. He'd look at Sena like there was nobody else in the world that mattered, and his breathing catches as he recalls the look on his face, the shine of his eyes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sena slips his hand beneath the band of his sweats and his boxers, curling his fingers around the base of his cock.

He almost sobs; it feels like he's been half-hard all night, and by now he's not sure he's ever been so aroused in his life. He thinks again about Shin, about the expression he gets on the field, about what he might look like doing this to Sena.

Would he look as focused about jerking Sena off as he does about trying to match his speed? What would his hands, large and rough, feel like against him?

He can't help the groan that rises in his chest at the thought. Shin is so much bigger than he is—taller, broader, heavier. Sena can still remember with clarity what it had felt like to have him above him on the field, the layers of their uniforms between them, both of them breathing heavy and focused on nothing but each other.

Sena tries to imagine Shin above him now, how heavy and hot he had been, how heavy and hot he would be. His hands, so much more calloused than Sena's, wrapping around his cock, jerking him slowly, painfully.

He turns his face into his pillow, a gasp rising into a keen in his throat. He feels undone, like his body is so hot that his muscles may well be melting beneath his skin, blood burning out his veins. His wrist catches as he tries to twist his hand a certain way and he huffs, lifting his hips to shove the fabric of his pants and underwear down his thighs.

Thumbing over the head of his leaking cock, he groans, wondering how Shin does this, how he likes to touch himself; does he grip himself hard? Gentle? Does he move slowly, or does he like it fast? Would he touch Sena the way he touches himself?

He pants, struggling to even out his breathing as he bites into his lip at the thought of Shin jerking himself off. Then, before he can stop the thought from finishing, he wonders if Shin has ever thought of _Sena_ , and his groan tapers off into something more like a sob.

It's that thought that does it. With a ragged, strangled gasp of " _Shin_ ," Sena comes all over his fingers and dripping against his thighs.

Chest heaving, Sena uses his feet to kick off his pants and sits up, wiping his dirty hand off on his boxers as he does. He might as well wash them, anyway. And shower.

He feels. Weirdly detached all of a sudden, as if he hadn't just got off thinking about someone he knows. A _guy_ he knows. Who he likes.

Faintly, he can hear his cat scratching at his bedroom door. Fainter still, he can hear the front door unlocking and then his mom calling out to him, first warm and then scolding as she yells for him to remember to take off his shoes properly.

"Ughhhh," he says to himself, then, "Aughhh," and he wonders if maybe the match against the Dokubari Scorpions tomorrow will bring him the sweet release of death, so he'll never have to deal with guiltily avoiding looking Shin in the eyes. Because. He's not sure he can ever meet his gaze again.

He very much wants to scream again. Instead, he resigns himself to his fate: suffering.

As usual.


End file.
